


Summer Rain

by alwyn



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, gender neutral reader, just some rainy day softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25191970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwyn/pseuds/alwyn
Summary: “It’s raining.” You twist again until you’re face-to-face, whining into the crook of his neck. “The universe is conspiring against us.” He chuckles, something full-toned and guttural. He needs a haircut: the ends tickle your forehead as you bury yourself deeper into him. The veiled musk of day-old cologne and sleep envelop you.“You,” he squeezes you tighter to him, plants his lips atop your head, “are awfully dramatic.”“Guilty as charged, Agent.”––––––––It's Hotch's only day off and the weather refuses to cooperate–––but that won't stop you two from making the most of it. Super short rainy day softness.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Reader, Aaron Hotchner x Reader, Aaron Hotchner/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 124





	Summer Rain

**Author's Note:**

> i've never written an imagine/reader insert before! i hope it lives up to standards. please let me know what you like and ***how i can improve! ♡

You emerge from deep-sleep slowly, vaguely aware of the grayness of the world–––unusual for these lazy mornings, where you are often blinded into awakeness by the sun. The air is damper than you remember falling asleep to, muddled with the scent of wet earth and lemongrass; _rain_ , falling in gentle but persistent sheets. You squint groggily in the direction of the window to confirm, and through the shade-slats, the marked and remarked remnants of a steady torrent are seen.

A deep rumble sounds from behind – disrupting the still air – one brawny arm snaking around to pull you flush against its owner protectively; your body curves into him reflexively. 

“Morning.” Aaron’s voice is waterlogged with sleep. You sigh noisily and shift onto your back as a heavier cloud passes overhead, announcing itself by drowning out what little sun had already hung. 

“It’s _raining_.” You twist again until you’re face-to-face, whining into the crook of his neck. “The universe is conspiring against us.” He chuckles, something full-toned and guttural. He needs a haircut: the ends tickle your forehead as you bury yourself deeper into him. The veiled musk of day-old cologne and sleep envelop you.

“You,” he squeezes you tighter to him, plants his lips atop your head, “are awfully dramatic.”

“Guilty as charged, Agent.” The rain pelts harder against the window and you harrumph before detangling yourself from Aaron's arms, sitting upright to rub the sleep from your eyes. His fingertips find the wavering curve of your spine——bare, cool in the mid-morning air.

“We’ll order in, watch a movie; I don’t care about the rain. I just want to spend time with you.” This Aaron is endearing and warm, sloppy grin pulling at his lips when you glance over your shoulder; unlike _Agent Hotchner_ , thin-lipped and stern. This Aaron is your favorite. He pulls you back into him and you let yourself fall, adjusting yourself until your head is comfortably resting on the slope of his shoulder.

“You’re a big softy, you know that?” His nose scrunches – a rare sight, evidence of his lowered guard – and he cranes his neck to glance down at you.

“Don’t tell the team.”

“Of course not––wanna keep it all to myself.” You meet him, then, a lazy and slow-moving kiss. His lips are chapped and your noses brush in a clumsy daze of ennui. 

He is yours and you are his.

You break apart at a sudden crash of thunder, jerking when the window panes shake at its will——consequently head-butting Aaron in the nose.

“OH——oh my god, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” You jerk upright and his hand flies to the bridge of his nose, muffling the choked laughter that spills through: “Jeez, I know you’re upset about the rain, but you don’t have to take it out on _me_.” You cringe sheepishly, baring teeth, and cup the side of his face.

“But are you okay?”

“I’m fine, y/n. I’ve suffered worse,” he assures you. When he brings his fingers away there is no jarring red to be seen, and when the thunder sounds once more, he eyes you warily.

“I’m——” you scoff, jabbing playfully at his arm, “I’m _sorry_ , I’m sorry.” And then, more serious and doe-eyed: “How can I make it up to you?”

He matches the sudden off-colorness of your voice with a quirk of his brow, leaning up and forward until you’re shivering at the warmth of his breath against your neck.

“I have a few ideas…” One wizened hand clutches at your waist and draws you nearer, the other braced into the mattress as his teeth graze the skin just below your ear. You resist the urge to press cheek to shoulder when your skin jumps at his stubbled jaw, a light prodding that elicits a flutter in the pit of your stomach. But he’s gone before you can relish it, cool air settling at the crest of your cheek as he brushes past you, pushing himself up onto his feet and off the bed in one swift movement. A tease. “… starting with breakfast.”

You roll your eyes in grievance before following suit, lugging the blanket up onto your shoulders as the room briefly indulges in a striking shaft of lightning. The pair of you peer through the blinds side by side and breathe synchronously with the rain, small and insignificant compared to the rushing currents ferrying stray leaves toward an unseen storm drain. There’s something peaceful there; a car idly passes by with its broken taillight and you briefly wonder if they’ll suffer an accident sooner or later in this weather.

Aaron peers over at you – older in this drowning light, softer – and you meet his gaze, taking in a lungful of air as you fumble to intertwine your fingers. “Let's stay in bed today,” he near-pleads, squeezing your hand. “Really. Even if the sun comes out, let’s just––– .. let’s stay here, okay?” It’s a request you only understand in degrees; you haven’t seen what he’s seen, were only just introduced to his somber appreciation of mortality and the cruel nature of the world. But you know, even with your crude grasp on these things, you can give him this.

“Okay.” You nod, close your assurance with a kiss to his shoulder, and pull him from the window. Thunder rumbles in the distance.

He lets you ease him into a worn t-shirt, steps obligingly into sweatpants, and only hums gruffly when you comb through his hair peak to nape. His arms are sturdy but gentle – a giant’s kindness – and it is in these quieter moments that you say so.

“I feel so safe with you, you know that? Safer than I’ve ever felt.” And you recognize that brief flash of pain in his eyes, but it melts just as quickly into what seems akin to awe. When he clutches you to him, blanket discarded by your feet, you grab fistfuls of his shirt, breathe him in until his grip loosens slightly. It’s a full minute of companionable silence, maybe two.

“I love you, y/n.” Aaron murmurs it into your hair, palming the back of your neck before stepping back. Wordlessly, he takes care to dress you: slips one of his academy sweatshirts over your head and ties the drawstring cord of your shorts. There is only tenderness here; the lotion he gathers onto your hands, eased onto the edge of the bed, smoothes over the plains of your shins, the crescent of your knees. He places a chaste kiss at each cap.

“Let’s eat, baby.”

* * *

You decide on banana pancakes, swayed primarily by the quickly-browning fruit you’re met with upon entrance into the kitchen. It’s an easy pattern––you and Aaron fall into sync without incident, one working on the dry ingredients while the other whisked egg and milk; you ladle the mixture into the pan, Aaron flips each upon spying air bubbles; you pass a plate over without needing to be asked, and he stacks them semi-precariously at your amused protestation.

And this is when you break the sacred rule, a silent agreement hovering between the two of you as you rush after him back into the bedroom. When syrup inevitably webs itself across the sheets, Aaron averts his eyes.

It’s laundry day, after all.

The rain carries over into the afternoon without lull, falling just as steadily when you drift off in his arms a second time (light sleep soundtracked by the intrepid plot of _The Goonies_ ). You can feel the sureness of his embrace even in your half-conscious state–––his breath rustles your hair, thumbs circling over the swell of your forearms. You can’t remember the last time – if there ever was a time – you felt as secure as this, curled into him, heartbeats off-rhythm but as unwaveringly determined as the other. The worry lines, you know, score his face unabated, but in this room, they are fainter; shrouded by this layer of ease.

And when he’s called into work in the early evening – the phone call is urgent and incontestable – he drags his feet, unwilling to part so easily.

“There are people out there that need you, Aaron,” you insist, albeit weakly, into his clothed shoulder. He’s already dressed and the suit jacket smells of equal-parts work and faint syrup. “Go be a hero.” You summon a small smile so he knows it’s _okay_ , really–––you bided your time and wouldn’t have spent it any other way. “But don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” It’s lighthearted and a means of pushing him out the door, gentle hands urging him backwards as his thin-lipped grimace returns.

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

“ _Don’t be_. This is what I signed up for, all or nothing. I’ll be here when you get back.” You step forward in a final farewell, stretching up to meet his lips: soft and full of regret, open-mouthed mourning for the loss of yet another off-day. But you lean into it freely, savoring what little you did have, and squeeze his shoulder to offer what little assurance you can. “Now go.”

You watch him stalk down the hall from the doorway, suppressing a chuckle at the seriousness of his form––so foreign when put up against the loose, sticky-fingered man from this morning. You’re still left leaning against the doorframe long after he’s disappeared behind the elevator doors, and you’re acutely aware of the absence of sounding rain outside.


End file.
